


The Punk was Right

by sarahbeniel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Gratuitous removal of Bucky's pants, Humor, Sam/Steve/Natasha (implied/mentioned only), Stucky (past/mentioned only), Swearing, WinterShock - Freeform, gratuitous kitten, guys giving each other shit, so that we can better imagine what his ass looks like in boxer briefs when he scales a climbing wall, very very very mild dom!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 00:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19860709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahbeniel/pseuds/sarahbeniel
Summary: Wintershock.  Fluff and smut and a secret revealed.  Bonus: kitten.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was generated from the MSFaFF three-word prompt: "too hot - lift - soak"... the words apply in multiple ways...  
>    
> This was intended to be a one-shot (and I still think of it that way), but I wound up breaking it into three parts because it has three distinct sections, each of them over 4k, and while I considered just using line breaks, 15k+ is a lot to swallow in one bite.  
>    
> This story has mild porn right out of the gate. If that's not your thing, hit the back button.  
>    
> Thanks for reading my story :)  
>    
> 

  


It was one of his favorite sounds: that sexy little whimper— second only to her laughter (she laughed sometimes during sex, because she was so happy, and it was fucking magical), or maybe to that drawn-out moan she usually let loose at the end. There’d been one memorable occasion— early on, after a particularly explosive finish— when she’d given him all three in a row: the whimper, and then the moan, and finally the laugh— and in the time-slowed purity of that beautiful moment, dazed and gasping above her, grinning like a dope as she beamed back at him, Bucky had felt his soul slip back into his body… like a traveler, lost in the astral plane, who’d finally, after decades of anxious wandering, found his way home. 

He’d known from the moment he'd met her that Darcy Lewis wasn’t the quiet type, but it’d still been a surprise, once they’d reached the pants-off stage of their acquaintanceship, to find out how much that carried over to _everything_. She was noisy: talking, giggling, and groaning, all the way through— whether it was a quickie up against the wall, or a languid, hours-long affair in bed— and it was only one of the hundreds of things he loved most about her. 

Her whimper reached out to him now, wrapping around his brain stem like a physical thing— he’d heard it clearly, even though she was facing away from him— and he felt it touch him as tangibly as the soft brush of her ass against his abs when she arched her back… felt the sound of it slide under his skin, an involuntary shiver that crawled down the length of his spine and twined around his balls, as electric as a live wire. 

He was spooning her on the rumpled sheets of her narrow bed— barely wide enough to fit the two of them side-by-side— and he was holding her thigh up, his flesh hand hooked under the back of her knee as he dragged himself halfway out of that silky-slick, heavenly-soft cut of her body… 

Concentrating… 

He lifted her leg higher, changing the angle slightly, his cock gliding back into her like a slow-motion replay, his eyes fluttering shut, a line of sweat trickling down from his temple to pool in his beard, and he clenched his ass, controlling the push, smiling as she gave him a gratifying little sigh for his efforts. 

He was working to find that sweet spot— the one that would make her moan and quiver and fall apart around him, practically pleading, if he played it right… bringing her up in a slow crescendo, a barely-there tease of a touch, way up inside… stroking her softly with his cock, almost cruelly, over and over, until she begged and quaked and shuddered… 

It was challenging in this position, when he couldn’t do it the easy way: using the weight of his body to give her that extra pressure that she loved, the kind that got her off so quickly it was almost like cheating… 

She arched her back just a little bit more— working it with him, seeking it, encouraging him with her sounds, though she’d been uncharacteristically frugal with her words in this hot, sticky, late-morning fuck: maybe a bit up in her own head, stressed about the move. 

He’d persuaded her to take a break from the endless sorting and packing, the unmade bed now her only haven in the mess— an island of comfort, surrounded by piles of thing to _keep_ or _toss_ , and a field of partially-filled moving boxes. 

He was making it last, this break; in this stifling weather, it was either gonna be fast and dirty, or this: a drowsy, almost agonizing pace… like heat on top of heat. And even in this slow-moving course, he was taking the long way round— being just a little mean. 

Her hand curled into the sheets, clenching a handful of cotton in her fist just as she tried to squeeze around him inside: not so easy when he was holding her wide open. She gave up, unable to keep him, and then she whimpered again as he slid most of the way back out… 

She knew exactly what he was about, and she approved. She also knew, from considerable experience, that he could hold her leg up like that indefinitely, and that he’d work her like this until the job was done, never tiring. 

Bucky didn’t get tired. Not of this. 

He exhaled heavily when he paused, partway through the next downstroke, and a wave of his scent drifted around her— a manly mix of underarm sweat, man-soap, leather, and the deep, musky salt of his sex— and then he held there in an awkward half-in, half-out… 

He was teasing her, his breath hot on her skin as he nuzzled her, running his lips slowly against the nape of her neck, the air rasping in his nose as he pulled in the smell of her skin, refusing to move in either direction, waiting for her to break… 

But she was stubborn… 

“I told you it’s too hot to screw,” she sighed, calling his bluff, pretending she could hold there too, and for just as long— unmoving, unhurried— resisting the need to reclaim him, for her body to grab at him, to swallow him up… to beg. 

She could feel him smile against her neck, the scruff of his beard tickling the sensitive skin behind her ear. 

Instead of sliding back in, he drew out even further, grinning wider against her neck as she betrayed herself: Her greedy walls clasped in vain as he retreated, bit by bit, until only an inch remained— a mere tickle— and he almost laughed. 

“You’re a bastard,” she said, impressed by his control, and then she baited him, craving his voice. “I mean, whatever. I was getting kinda bored…” 

She smiled, biting her lower lip to keep from laughing as she awaited her punishment. She could feel his chest rise and fall against her back. 

“That so,” he finally said, his voice a low rumble in her ear, and it was everything she wanted: the sound of it making her flush with fresh arousal, even as she clasped around an emptiness, and he lifted her leg even higher, spreading her lewdly, his cock barely even touching her now, and she was holding her breath, waiting for him to plunge back in, teach her a lesson… 

His lips felt their way down to her earlobe, and he traced it with his tongue, pulled on it with his teeth, and he was making her tremble around that tease of a tip, still toying with her down below… 

His breath was hot on the shell of her ear as he spoke to her again: “You gettin’ tired, Princess? You want me to stop?” 

Without even waiting for an answer, he shifted his hips away from her, that last little bit of his cock leaving her body— denying her completely. 

She narrowly avoided an instinctive sound of protest, and he knew it: Sure enough, he was grinning when she craned her head back to glare at him in outrage. 

He met her put-on anger with a single, raised eyebrow, like the cocky motherfucker he was, and then he gently lowered her leg, closing her up, like he was really done… and for a few seconds she was actually thrown— like maybe he wasn’t kidding— and if he actually thought he could get _away_ with that, she was gonna— 

“You hot, Sweetheart?” 

He was being an ass, saying it so casually— completely unbothered by this cruel interruption— and then he pushed himself up and over her, braced himself with his metal hand as he leaned over to grab the remote for the air-conditioning. 

She scooted over beneath him, getting comfortable on her back, as she considered the question. 

She _was_ hot, and he knew it— it was a fucking swamp in the room. She’d gotten so involved in her packing that she hadn’t stopped to crank up the A/C, as it’d gotten progressively warmer and stuffier, and then Bucky had come by, ready to make it even hotter… 

But this was something he liked to give her shit about— how crazy she was with the thermostat: one-hundred-percent wrong in her choice of settings— and there was no way she was gonna admit he was right. 

“Get back in here,” she commanded, bypassing the question entirely, and she cupped her heavy tits, pushing them up a little, and started circling her own thumbs slowly over her nipples, just to annoy him, as she shifted her butt on the tangle of sheets. “Now.” 

She saw his eyes drop to her movements for just a second, and then he returned his attention to the remote. “Why the fuck you got it set to eighty-two?” he said— completely predictable, as was his next line: “You ain’t even payin’ for it.” 

She’d spread herself open for him again— waiting— and she could see his dick jutting out between them, rock hard and red and probably just as pissed off as she was, and she let her tits fall back down with a jiggle. 

Bucky didn’t even look— just continued to study the remote like he hadn’t seen it or used it a million times before. 

She spread herself a little wider, bending her knees restlessly, and then lifted her left foot to just barely swipe at his dick, like a cat playing with a toy. 

He gave her a look then— Bucky’s version of “ _oh no you didn’t_ ”— and it made her giggle: so happy, knowing she was gonna get it, but he went right back to looking at the remote control, like he had all the time in the world… 

She blew out a breath, frustrated— not even caring anymore who won. 

“Enough with the fucking remote,” she said. “Set the damn temperature and be done with it, or I’m gonna finish this without you.” 

His blue eyes were fond as they flicked to her again for a second, and then there was a _beep_ as he pressed the down-arrow button on the remote with his thumb. He hit it a good six or seven more times, setting the target temperature to something more appropriate for a lazy-but-heartfelt fuck on a sweltering summer day. 

He dropped the remote back down on the bedside table, letting it clatter in the huge pile of junk there, and then returned his full attention to his gorgeous, needy girl. He licked his lips as he moved his eyes slowly down her body, his metal hand holding himself steady above her, trying to decide how to begin again. 

“Jesus, come _on_ ,” she said urgently, almost grouchy about it now, and he couldn’t help chuckling, because she was so goddamned cute when she was impatient. 

He pressed his forearms into the bed as he lowered himself carefully down into the cradle of her body, but he didn’t dip back in yet— just casually moved his mouth down to slowly suck on one of her pretty pink nipples, and then let go, looking up at her face with a shit-eating grin. 

She practically whined, trying to reach between their bodies to grab on— to pull him in— but he intercepted her, grabbing her wrist with the metal hand, and pressed it into the bed next to her head as he moved back up, holding her captive as his lips hovered over her open mouth. He found her other free hand, grabbed it with his flesh one before it could take up the cause, and pinned that wrist to the bed as well. 

He kissed her just once, exhaling into her mouth, and then he moved his lips to her ear. 

“Maybe we oughta wait ’til it cools down,” he teased, his voice soft, and then he inched up— let the head of his cock brush against her wetness, just a little, as his knees spread her wider. 

“I hate you,” she whispered, and he kissed her again, and then he smiled, open-mouthed, and ran his lips along her jawline, nudging her chin up to give himself access. 

She knew it was coming, but he still managed to please her with the timing, distracting her by licking a slow stripe up the column of her neck, not at all in sync with the way he moved up with one knee, let go of her wrist so he could wrap the metal arm around her leg, pulling her open, and then slid his entire length back home in one careful, steady thrust, all the way to the hilt. 

He let his eyes fall shut, briefly, when he heard the happy sound of her relief as he filled her up, and then he lifted his face away from her neck so he could see her— opened his eyes and watched her as he pulled out and then pushed into her again, and then he lowered his mouth back to her ear. 

“Ain’t never too hot to screw,” he said. 

His voice was deep, his tone certain, like it was a universal truth that bore repeating, and then he exhaled as he went deeper, sinking his entire body a little lower, letting go of her leg to brace himself again, his pelvis flush against her body, pressing her hard into the mattress. 

“You just—” He closed his eyes for a second as she gripped him, almost defiantly, and then he opened them, his voice a low purr as he tried to finish his sentence. 

“You need to—” His eyes fluttered again, briefly, as she squeezed him again, this time with more feeling, and he made a little sound in his throat— almost vulnerable— like a tightness, and then a letting go… 

“— to turn up your goddamned air-conditioning,” he finally said, and he pressed her up into the bed even more, using his knees to get closer, crowding her. 

She was panting, eyes hooded, from that sexy little noise she’d forced out of him— felt it in warm tingles that spidered all over her body, ending at her center, which responded with a fresh flush of moisture. 

He wasn’t as vocal as she was, which made every involuntary grunt and moan from him feel special, and so very arousing… She’d almost come in her own pants the first time she’d sucked him off, just from the delicious sounds he’d made; the man was so carefully guarded otherwise… 

He got her back, circling his hips— slowly, never letting up on the pressure— and it was that cheating move that was all too easy: that focused grind, right against her bones… 

She almost came that time— _almost_ — and then he released her from it, laying off a little, but only for a second… 

“ _Baby_ ,” she said, sighing, her lips pulling up in pleasure, gasping as he did it again: the slow circle, the pressure, pinning her there… “ _Fuck, that’s so good_ …” 

She bit her own lip and then released it so she could speak again: “A/C’s too fucking _cold_ , when you’re not here,” she moaned. “You know it’s… _ahhh_ … it gets too cold… when I don’t have my personal… personal space-heater on me…” 

His metal hand moved back behind himself to where her ankles were crossed around his waist, unhooking them so he could bend and push one of her legs toward her chest, spreading her wide again… 

“ _In_ me,” she went on, letting her happiness show as he rolled his hips tenderly. “All over me… making me sweat…” 

“Well, pretty soon you’ll have it— all the time,” he said, the last bit almost a growl, and he let his eyes fall shut as he picked up the pace, just for a handful of seconds, panting as he snapped his hips, and he loved it: that feeling of exertion that only came over him when they were together like this... 

Bucky could run a marathon without breaking a sweat, but making love to Darcy made him feel, for those hallowed, savory stretches of time together, almost like a regular man. His muscles never tired, but he could feel his heart rate increasing, his breathing picking up… as though the emotional exertion— the sensual pleasure and the love that flooded through him as he gave her everything— was something else entirely, something the serum couldn’t mar… and it felt so _fucking_ good to give over to it: to feel himself fall to pieces along with her… 

“Just— one— more— _week_ ,” she said, stuttering the words out in between his thrusts. 

“Fuck, sweetheart… God, I love you.” 

It was kind of random, but that’s how he tended to say it: whenever the feeling hit him. He released her leg to press his hand back into the mattress, dipping down to kiss her slowly, and then he rested his head beside hers, in the blanket of her hair, his lips against her ear as he pushed in deep and held it, pausing there to savor the feeling a little while longer, before the big finish… 

“It’s gonna be—” She paused as he shifted, changing the angle a little. “ _Fuck_ , yeah— _right there_.” She didn’t even need to say it— he knew what he was doing— but she couldn’t help it, loved to tell him, give him all the feedback… “ _God_ , boo.” 

“Gonna be what,” he said, his lips still next to her ear, as he began to move again. 

“Gonna be awesome in the winter,” she said, running her hands up and down the muscles of his back. “My bed’s never gonna be cold again. I mean, _our_ bed.” 

“We’re stupid,” she said, as she stroked his hair. “We shoulda moved in sooner. Why the fuck did we wait so long?” 

He lifted his head and kissed her again— first her upper lip, and then he tilted his head and took the lower one, softly, his body almost atop her, just a breath between them, and it was probably her most favorite feeling in the world, being kissed by him so sweetly while he was fully sheathed inside her, holding her captive with his girth… 

“I woulda put in for a double a year ago, if I’da known how much you wanted to,” he said, smoothing her sweaty hair back from her face, punctuating the thought with one more gentle kiss. 

“Mmmm,” was all she could say in answer, as he dipped his mouth down to her neck, ran his tongue along it again, tasting the salty sweat. He pulled back a bit more, careful not to fall out this time— he was done being mean— and made her moan in appreciation as he pushed back in all the way, moving his knees up a bit more for leverage. He was edging her more purposefully toward her release now, and he knew _exactly_ how much to let his body press into her in this position, to give her that spark… 

“You think Steve’ll ask Sam to move in?” she asked, with a deliberate nonchalance. “Or keep your guys’ place all to himself?” 

She was very close now, and he knew it, which was why she was fucking with him, with the casual questions— like they were just hanging out, having lunch or something. She liked to see how long she could keep talking, because it made it all the better when he rose to the challenge: to render her truly speechless at the end. 

Just as she’d hoped, he answered with another devastating pelvic grind, making her give in and groan, and she could feel he was close now too, and then he took all his weight on his metal hand again, sticking his flesh thumb in his mouth to soak it with spit, before moving it down between them, circling the wet pad of it against her swollen clit, right above the slide of his shaft… 

“Bet he can’t— _haaahh_ — can’t wait to be rid of you,” she gasped, barely holding on now. “What with all your constant whining and— and spoiled-baby bullshit…” 

It was a joke; Bucky never complained about anything, unless he was kidding around. 

He dipped his head, burying his face in her hair again, his voice muffled when he spoke. “Sweetheart— you mind if… I mean, you know I love to listen to your babbling, but can we _not_ talk about Stevie when I’m balls-deep inside o’ you?” 

She giggled and gripped him again— just a soft squeeze this time, well aware that his cock was close to bursting. “Whats’a matter, hot stuff,” she teased. “Too much of a turn-on?” 

She didn’t hear his response clearly, with his mouth still nestled in her hair, but the part she caught sounded suspiciously like, “… _ship already sailed_ …” 

“Wait, what?” she said, and everything stopped, all games forgotten. 

His thumb stopped moving down below, and he lifted his head to look at her, realizing he’d fucked up. He could see her scanning his silver-blue eyes searchingly, as he failed to hide a somewhat sheepish expression, and then her hands moved to each side of his face, gripping his beard— holding him there so he couldn’t duck away as he looked back her worriedly. 

“Oh my God, boo,” she said, her eyes sparkling with— was that _delight?_

“For real?” she said, and then, when he didn’t immediately deny it: “Holy _shit!_ ” 

He was trying to think what to say, but she kept barreling on: “Oh my God,” she said. “I fucking _knew_ it.” And then she laughed, a little outraged, and said, “You fucking _liar_.” 

“Aw, fuck,” he said, shutting his eyes. He was still fully seated in her, and he made the executive decision to finish things off quickly before they got into it, having no idea how _that_ conversation was going to go… and he began to drive into her in earnest, slapping his hips against her with a focus and intensity that impeded any further talk, other than his own stuttered, “Never— lied— to you…” 

She tipped her head back, breathing heavily, taking it, loving his enthusiasm, even as her mind spiraled over the ramifications of his confession… 

He worked it hard, and in fairly short order she was gasping and gripping him tightly, shouting out her pleasure in a shattering release… maybe a little less explosive than he’d hoped for, with having to wrap it up so abruptly after all of that buildup, but she didn’t seem to mind, because there it was: that satisfied, drawn-out moan he loved so well… 

He followed her quickly, groaning out his own relief as he spilled into her, holding firm against her body, his metal fingers clawing into the sheets as he shuddered through his own jolting contractions. 

They were both so hot now, in spite of his having cranked up the A/C, that she made no complaint when he slipped out only a few seconds later, immediately collapsing onto his back beside her. 

They were both completely enrobed in sweat, and little streams of it trickled down their still-heaving bodies, pooling in the cracks and folds of their skin as they lay there panting, neither of them able to speak, the air heavy now with the tangy stink of sex… 

Darcy was the first to say something, a few minutes later. 

“You better not be thinking you can distract me with a mind-blowing orgasm,” she said, “because it won’t work. You got some ‘splainin’ to do, mister.” 

He risked a glance at her: her eyes were still closed, but she was fighting a smile. He could tell she wasn’t really mad at him, which was a relief. In truth, it was an even bigger relief to finally get it out, after all this time— even if Steve was gonna kill him. 

He sighed— a long one, like a final resignation— before he spoke. 

“It was… well, it was a long time ago,” he said, as a way to start. 

Her eyes popped open immediately, and she rolled onto her side to face him, unable to stifle her excitement once he’d unequivocally confirmed it. 

“You _do_ realize you’re gonna have to tell me _everything_ ,” she said, her eyes moving over his face. “As penance for keeping this from me for so long. Like, every last sordid, filthy detail. Starting right now. Go.” 

“Ah, Christ,” he said, and he turned his head to stare up at the ceiling again. He didn’t want to talk about this— not right now; not mere minutes after he’d unloaded inside her. He scrubbed his flesh hand over his mouth, and then turned his head to glance at her face again— laughing, in spite of himself, when he saw her expression. 

“You’re gettin’ off on this,” he said, a little incredulously. He hadn’t expected her to be so… _gleeful_. 

“Maybe,” she said playfully, as she reached out a finger to his sweaty chest, swirled it through the damp little curls of hair on his pecs. “Maybe just a little.” She dropped the smile then. “But how come you never told me?” 

“I wanted to,” he said, honestly. “Hate keepin’ things from you. But I made him a promise, before you and me— well, before we even met. Promised it’d stay just between us.” 

“But why?” she said. “It’s not like he’s hiding his… orientation or anything; I mean, not anymore…” 

He could feel her eyes following him as he sat up in bed, looking around for something to clean up with. He found a soft T-shirt, tangled up in the sheets, and wiped her off with it first, running it gently between her legs, and then gave himself a quick swipe with it before tossing it onto the floor. 

“Back then,” he said, and then lay back down beside her, getting as comfortable as he could, on the narrow bed. “I mean, you’ve read about what it was like. We couldn’t— it was… somethin’ private. Just between me and Stevie. Nobody knew about it but us.” 

“I get why you had to back _then_ ,” she said, “but what about now? After he came out, officially? Why the big secret?” 

“He had his reasons,” said Bucky. “Made me swear to it, and I never broke my promise.” 

He looked over at her again, and he rolled his eyes at her bright, happy face. 

“God, until _now_ ,” he lamented. “Fucking hell. He’s gonna kill me. I know it’s a tall order, but could you, like… _not_ go right up to him and drop the bomb the next time you see him?” 

He dropped his gaze from her eyes to her chest, rolled onto his side, facing her, so he could absently pick at the little dark curls of chest hair he’d left behind, stuck like confetti to her sweaty skin— like he’d marked her. 

“What,” she said, laughing a little. “You worried I’m gonna tell him that the thought of you guys together is only, like, the biggest turn-on ever?” She bit her lip and tried to catch his eyes, but he kept them angled down at her chest, as he continued to pick all of the little C-shaped hairs off. 

“Yeah, you left your spoor all over me again,” she said, acknowledging his work. “Beast.” 

“You want I should wax it off?” he said, a little sassy, his eyes flicking up to hers briefly, one side of his mouth pulling up. He already knew what she’d say to that— they’d joked about it before; she had strong opinions about his body hair. 

“You better not,” she said, reaching out to drag her nails down his chest. 

His wasn’t the hairiest chest on the compound, by far— Bruce had that honor, and even golden-haired Steve had more up top than Bucky— but she’d never bothered to hide her appreciation for the old-school manly vibe he had going on. She loved the soft scattering of hair on his chest, and the line that ran from his navel down to the thick, dark patch at the base of his gorgeous cock. Loved the rough shadow of scruff on his face that felt so good against her fingertips, gently abrading her skin when he kissed her— marking her face, her neck, her thighs… 

“And you’re doing it again,” she said, smacking him in the sternum. 

“What,” he said, laughing, the skin crinkling up next to his eyes. “I ain’t doin’ nothin’.” 

“Stop trying to distract me with your witchy man-powers,” she said. “You know I’m _never_ gonna let this go, right? As in, _ne-ver_. So you may as well start talking. Was it pre-Cap? Or was he already big? Did you… did you just fool around, or did you…” 

She flopped onto her back then, her boobs jiggling as she landed, and shut her eyes as she exhaled dramatically. “Oh my God, just thought of you guys _kissing_ is enough to blow my mind straight into orbit…” 

He was chuckling again, quietly, at her response— at how much she was enjoying just the _idea_ of it, without even knowing any details. 

“I ain’t gonna tell you a goddamn thing,” he said, knowing it was pointless— that she’d wear him down eventually, pull it all out of him— but now they were in the dance, and this he could enjoy… drag it out… 

He was about to speak, to tease her some more, when his phone suddenly went off. He knew Darcy recognized the ringtone as Sam’s, and she was reaching over to click it off as usual— he never took calls while they were in bed together, unless it came through the emergency channel— but this time he gestured for it, saying, “Give it here.” 

She passed it over to him, making an exaggerated scowly face. “Don’t think you’re off the hook,” she said. “I know you’re only answering to delay my brutal interrogation.” 

Bucky grinned and wagged his eyebrows as he clicked to accept the call, holding the phone up to his ear as he spoke. “Hey, what’s up.” 

Darcy was very quiet, trying to eavesdrop— she could hear the rhythm of Sam’s voice on the other end, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. 

“Uh huh,” said Bucky, and then, “Yeah, all right. Be right there.” He clicked off and tossed the phone aside, and then sat up, looking around the room, wondering where in the hell his clothes had ended up, in all of that mess. Unlike most of the people at the compound, himself included, Darcy hadn’t had discipline and tidiness pounded into her. She was sloppy, untamed. He liked it. 

“Sam needs my help with somethin’,” he said. 

“Anything serious?” she asked, dropping her teasing for the moment. 

“Didn’t say. Don’t think so.” 

“God, does _Sam_ know?” she asked. “I mean, he’s got to, right? He would’ve asked Steve straight out, at some point. Or maybe he did, and Steve was all slippery about it, like you were with me back when.” 

“I dunno,” said Bucky. “Maybe. Never said anything, so…” He was sitting up now, his legs hanging over the side of the bed. “You seen my shirt?” 

“I think you used it to clean up,” she said. 

“Aw, fuck.” He stood up and started to kick through the piles of crap on the floor— located his jeans, his underpants still inside of them. 

“Wear one of mine,” she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief as he looked back at her. 

“Yeah, right,” he said, and then sighed. “Goddammit, I’m gonna have to go all the way back to—” 

“Take my scum shirt,” she said. “The big purple one. That’ll fit.” 

He bent over to step into the boxer briefs, and then stood as he pulled them up, letting the waistband snap against his abs. “That thing you been paintin’ in?” He blew out a quick laugh as he shook his head. “No fuckin’ way. I’d never hear the end of it.” 

She was reclined on her side, looking like a goddess— like a fuckin’ Renoir, all creamy skin, soft and round and still a little pink in the heat, her hair tumbling over her shoulders. She was watching him with humor as he pulled on the jeans and zipped up. 

“I double-dog _dare_ you to wear it,” she said, grinning wickedly when he looked at her again, his eyebrows raised. 

He glanced over at the shirt in question, where it lay draped over the back of a chair next to her closet. He doubted it would even fit. 

She already knew she had him, even before he straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest, his tongue running back and forth along his lower lip, and then he tilted his head at an angle, raised a single, sexy eyebrow and said, “Awright, dollface; you’re on. But I got conditions.” 

She grinned even wider, rolling onto her tummy. Her legs were bent, feet in the air, swinging back and forth playfully. 

“Lay ‘em on me, Soldier.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my Tumblr](https://sarahbeniel.tumblr.com)   
> 


	2. Chapter 2

  


Bucky found Sam right where he’d said he’d be: in the compound’s impressive indoor swimming center, which was equipped with a competition-size, 8-lane-wide swimming pool. 

A large aquatic-grade climbing wall was installed near the deep end; some of the residents liked to practice scaling it in full tac gear, or loaded down with weighted vests— a challenge which could be made even more difficult by oiling up the scattered climbing holds. The wall curved slightly inward toward the pool as it went up, so that climbers could let go and simply fall into the water after reaching the top— or failing to. 

Sam hadn’t oiled up the holds, but at some point he’d either lost his grip or chosen to fall in. He was standing in a puddle of water on the deck of the pool, wearing heavy pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and combat boots— all dripping wet— and was about to strip down and dry off, when he saw Bucky come through the door at the other end of the room. 

Sam had been bracing himself to take some bullshit for his drenched state, but when he got a load of the getup Bucky had on, he knew he was off the hook: 

Clearly, of the two of them, Bucky was the one who was in trouble. 

Within seconds of seeing his friend, Sam was bent over double, laughing his ass off. If Bucky had chosen to, he could have taken it as a compliment: Sam didn’t make fun of people he wasn’t fond of. 

Judging by his response this time, Sam was pretty fucking fond of Bucky. He kept trying to get a hold of himself, but every time he made an attempt to catch his breath and regain his composure— holding a hand out, as though to say, “ _It’s okay; I’ve got it_ ”— he’d look up, see the shirt again, and crumble under another fit of laughter. 

Bucky’s scowl deepened, and he crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn’t consciously trying to hide the shirt, but it helped: Once the view was partially blocked, Sam was finally able to look at him without falling to pieces. 

“Oh man,” he said, as Bucky stood there in front of him, emotionless. “What happened— you lose a bet or somethin’?” 

“Nope,” said Bucky. “Winnin’ one.” 

“You look like an extra from some kinda Jazzercise video from 1982,” said Sam, shaking his head. “You just need to ditch the jeans for some booty shorts.” 

“I got no idea what you’re talkin’ about,” said Bucky. He knew he looked ridiculous, but he didn’t understand the references. 

The faded purple shirt— baggy when curvy-yet-petite Darcy wore it— was a tight stretch across Bucky’s broad chest, and came up far too short on the bottom, leaving his bare midriff exposed. Notwithstanding Bucky’s gorgeous washboard abs, and the perfectly masculine line of hair that trailed down from his navel, the look was already a fashion _don’t_ — and then there was the whole problem of the T-shirt’s graphic design… 

The face of the shirt was dominated by a large, sparkling image of a glittering, golden saxophone. Happy, multi-colored notes floated out of its bell, along with a printed message in a wavy, scrolling font. 

“Keep it… _SAXY_ ,” said Sam, his head tilted sideways so he could read the words, and then he almost fell over again, the laughter forcing its way out of his nose… 

“You gonna tell me what the fuckin’ emergency was,” said Bucky, shifting on his feet, a little testy now. “Or do I gotta figure out for myself why you called me all the way down here?” 

Sam’s only response was another heaving wave of laughter. 

Bucky finally acknowledged Sam’s wet clothes, unfolding his arms to gesture to him. “You havin’ trouble climbin’ the wall all by yourself or somethin’? You need someone to hold your hand?” 

Sam was having trouble speaking again, so he just shook his head and pointed toward something over the other man’s shoulder. Bucky swiveled around and looked up, following the invisible line extending from Sam’s finger. 

The swim center was a huge, open room with peaked, thirty-foot ceilings, stabilized with steel rafters and trusses, including massive horizontal beams that spanned the width of the pool high overhead, at six-foot intervals. 

Bucky scanned the trusses and beams, no idea what he was supposed to be looking for, and he took a step back in surprise when he finally saw it, because it was such a strange thing to be up there: A tiny, orange-and-white-striped kitten, no bigger than a sweet potato, was cowering on the narrow, lower flange of one of the beams, about halfway across the span above the pool. 

Just as Bucky locked eyes on it, the kitten let out a piteous little _mew_ , which was amplified by the room’s cathedral-like acoustics. 

“Fuck,” said Bucky, putting his hands on his hips as he squinted up at it. “How’d it even get up there?” 

“I look like some kinda psychic to you?” said Sam, now recovered from the second laugh-attack, and ready to get down to business. “Real question is, can you get up there?” 

“Why’d you call _me_?” said Bucky, instead of answering the question, but he was already looking around at the structures above them, analyzing the options. The flange that the kitten was resting on— about a three-inch-wide strip that ran the length of the beam— could possibly serve as a means to slide his way over, hanging on with his fingers, if he could just grab onto— 

He shook his head. “Wouldn’t Steve be—” 

“He’s still sleepin’,” said Sam, interrupting him. “He and Nat didn’t get in ’til almost five in the morning.” 

The kitten mewed again: it was a sad, pleading sound, like some kind of tiny alien saying, ‘ _help me_.’ 

Bucky sighed audibly when he heard it— without some kind of intervention, the kitten was fucked. It was surprising it’d managed to keep its footing up there on the narrow strip of metal, with nothing to grip; with every move it made, it risked slipping and falling the twenty-some feet to the water. Maybe it’d be fine, but did they really want to test it and find out? 

“Think you can make that jump?” Sam nodded his head toward the aquatic wall, the top of which wasn’t as high as the beams, but would get him close enough to attempt a jump to the nearest one. 

“Please tell me you can,” he continued, “because otherwise we’re gonna have to go drag out the hydraulic scissor-lift from the garage on the whole other ass-end of the property, and I don’t even know for sure that thing’s gonna fit through the doors there…” 

Bucky was looking from the top of the climbing wall to the beam with the kitten on it— there was no way to make a direct jump to that one, but if he could get to the nearer one— grab on— he could then theoretically get up into the rafters, climb across the web of them like a jungle gym, and make his way over and down to the beam with the kitten. 

“You already give it a try?” he asked. 

“Yeah, man,” said Sam. “Why you think I look like this,” he added, gesturing to his sodden clothing. 

“Figured you got scared,” said Bucky. “Fell off the wall when it meowed at you.” He was grinning as he sat down to unlace his boots. 

“Tried to see if I could make it to that first beam there,” said Sam, ignoring the jab. He shook his head. “Not even close. Just wound up scarin’ her even more with the splash, makin’ her move farther away. That’s when I called you up. Figured maybe with your super-legs…” 

“How you know it’s a ‘she’?” said Bucky, tossing the second boot aside, and then he ripped his socks off, one by one, and stuck them in the boots so they wouldn’t get wet on the deck. Not waiting for an answer, he said, “Why not Wanda? Or even—” 

“Everyone’s still on vacation or sleepin’,” said Sam. 

“You couldn’t use your wings?” 

“Not in here,” he said. “Dude, come on. You gonna try it, or do I gotta tell your girlfriend you turned your back on a helpless little kitten?” 

“Jesus, lay off, would ya? Why you think I’m takin’ all my shit off?” He pushed himself up to standing again. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

“So what was the bet, anyway?” asked Sam. He’d finally peeled off his soaked base-layer shirt, and was wringing it out onto the deck of the pool. 

“Never mind,” said Bucky, looking at the climbing wall, and then again at the lattice of metalwork above. After a second of consideration, he unzipped and pushed off his jeans— it’d be easier to climb and maneuver without them. 

“Shit, man,” said Sam, shaking his head as he looked at Bucky, who was now stripped down to form-fitting grey boxer briefs and the purple crop-top. “It’s a fuckin’ tragedy I’m the only one gets to witness this special moment in fashion…” 

“For fuck’s sake,” Bucky grumbled, kicking the jeans well away from the growing puddle of water under Sam. “You want my help, or not?” 

Sam just waved his open hand toward the climbing wall, in a “ _Be my guest_ ” kind of gesture, and then turned to spread his damp shirt out on one of the slatted poolside benches. He glanced back a few seconds later; as soon as Bucky was headed to the climbing wall, Sam hustled over to the other nearby bench— the one that had the rest of his gear and his phone on it. He dried off his hands, picked up his phone, and subtly clicked it on, thumbing open the camera app. 

Bucky was halfway up the wall by the time he figured out what was going on, by which time Sam had already gotten at least four decent shots of him, fully taking advantage of the way the demands of the climb made the most of Bucky’s thighs and ass, the effect made even better by the unfortunate outfit. 

“I’m gonna take that phone and smash it when I get back down there,” said Bucky, without slowing the rate of his climb. He was well aware of how ridiculous he looked, but it was like the man had said— he wasn’t about to let a kitten drown, even if it cost him what little dignity he had left. 

“Hey, man,” said Sam. “I’m just documenting the heroic rescue.” The phone’s camera app made the telltale artificial shutter-sound as he took another shot. 

“Uh huh,” said Bucky. He’d reached the top of the climbing wall with impressive efficiency, and finally looked back over his shoulder. “You’re the one’s gonna need a heroic rescue, if any of those pictures get out.” 

He swung a leg over so that he was straddling the top edge of the curved wall, pausing for a moment to brush his long hair out of his face, and then considered the angles again as he looked up to the nearest beam. It was gonna be close. He heard the tiny kitten _mew_ again, and he sighed. Better get to it, then. 

“You gonna put the phone away?” he said, as he carefully raised his body to standing. 

“Sure,” said Sam. He took a couple more shots while Bucky carefully raised himself to standing, gripping the top edge of the wall with his bare feet, arms out to his sides to balance as he inched his way to the end. 

“You’re playin’ with fire, and you don’t even know it,” said Bucky, flinching for a second as he lost and then regained his balance. He could see the target location— the nearest span of the beam that he needed to grab onto with his hand— and was lowering his center of gravity, getting ready… 

“I know all about what you guys’ve been up to,” he continued, crouching even lower, winding up… 

“You and Steve,” he said, running his tongue along his lower lip, his eyes never wavering from the target. 

“Man, what you talkin’ about,” said Sam. Everyone on the planet knew about him and Steve. It was old news. 

Bucky grinned. “I know about Nat.” 

He said it in the split second before he pushed off the wall with his feet, using all the strength in his thighs and his ass, propelling his body as far forward as possible, swinging up and out with his metal hand… 

… and grinned as his fingers just barely grasped the lip of the beam, resisting the temptation to look down to the deck— to see the expression on Sam’s face. 

He didn’t even need to look: the silence alone spoke volumes, as the other man was, for once, bereft of smart-ass comebacks. Bucky grinned even wider, knowing he’d hit the mark— up to now, it’d only been a guess— and then returned his focus to the task at hand. 

His grip on the beam was tenuous— metal-on-metal not the best for traction— and he quickly pulled himself up one-armed, with the power of the prosthesis, until he could swing his flesh arm over the beam and hoist the rest of his heavy body up. From there it was easy to get into the latticework above, and to pick and crawl his way through the web of metal, all the way over to the beam that had the kitten on it. He paused before dropping down to it, and blew another strand of hair out of his face. 

“Seriously,” he said, his voice carrying down to Sam, watching from below. “How the fuck did it get up here? Magic?” 

It was a rhetorical question, but the change of topic was appreciated. It also indicated to Sam that, in spite of the ribbing about Nat, Bucky was willing to drop it… pending some kind of understanding of just how much they were gonna fuck with each other… 

“Who knows,” said Sam. “Claws, I guess.” 

“Yeah,” said Bucky, and then he smoothly dropped down, hanging onto the beam with both hands, his body once again dangling over the water below. He blew his hair out of his face again, and began to cautiously slide his way over to the kitten. 

“But what’d she claw onto?” he wondered aloud. “Everything’s metal or masonry or what-have-you. Rigid.” 

“It’s a fuckin’ mystery,” said Sam. And then he added, a little uneasily, “As much a mystery as how in the _fuck_ you know about—” 

“Y’all ain’t as sneaky as you think you are,” said Bucky. He was just a few feet away now, and he slowed down, not wanting to scare the little thing; he was close enough now to see that it was quivering all over, its little blue eyes nervously watching his every move. 

“You, I understand,” he said, still talking to Sam. “Steve? Even more so. But Natália?” He made a scoffing sound. “Sloppy.” He grinned again. “She must be havin’ a _real_ good time…” 

“Hey, fuck you, man,” said Sam, but he was chuckling now, in spite of himself. “You uh… you happen to know if anyone else…” 

“Doubt it,” said Bucky. He was right next to the kitten now. The poor thing was terrified. He instinctively meowed at it, and it answered him immediately. 

Now that he was up there, looking at it— seeing how small and fragile it really was— he realized he had no idea how he was going to get both the kitten _and_ himself safely back down without hurting it. He should’ve brought up a bag or a boot or something. Maybe he could use the shirt somehow… 

The kitten mewed again and he decided to just go for it, before she got scared and tried to move again. He let go with his flesh hand, hanging on with just the metal one, and reached across his own chest to grab onto it as best he could. It was a tiny mass of muscle and fur and bone, and it immediately began to struggle in his grip. 

“Don’t drop her,” said Sam, agitated, watching it all from below. 

“M’tryin’ not to,” said Bucky, losing his focus as the kitten began to panic. It was wriggling around, digging its claws into his hand, biting him, like it couldn’t make up its mind whether it wanted to attach itself to him, or escape his grasp. 

He was holding it behind his head now, shaking his hand a little, trying to transfer it to his back or his shoulder— he needed to put his flesh hand back onto the beam, or he was gonna lose his grip and fall into the water… 

“C’mon, kitty,” he said, under his breath, trying to get her to let go and grab onto his shirt instead. 

“You got her?” came Sam’s voice from below. 

“I think it’s the other way around,” said Bucky. “She’s got _me_. Can’t move ’til she lets go of my hand.” He shook his hand again, this time a little harder. “Fuck, she won’t let go.” 

All at once, the kitten finally did let go, and attached itself abruptly to the back of his neck, digging all of its claws into the exposed flesh above the neckline of the purple shirt, making him hiss. It was like being pierced with a multitude of tiny needles, and he winced with every move she made, his metal hand whirring as he curled the fingers against the lip of the beam, trying to hang on. 

“Good kitty,” he whispered, as his flesh hand reconnected with the beam, and then he was able to slowly and carefully pull himself back up into the latticework, ignoring the way the kitten was digging itself deeper into his neck. 

He took his time retracing his steps through the maze of metal struts and posts, trying to move smoothly so as not to overly jostle his tiny passenger, but when he made it to the first beam, he suddenly stopped and made an audible scoffing noise, recognizing his own stupidity: There was no safe way to jump back to the climbing wall— not without risk of the kitten falling off mid-jump, or being dislodged at the moment of impact. It would probably be safer if he just went straight down. 

It was either gonna be the pool deck, or the water. He was favoring the deck: That kind of a drop wouldn’t be an issue for him, even in bare feet, whereas impact with the water might knock her off and hurt her. He didn’t want to hold her in his hand, afraid he’d accidentally tense up and crush her when he hit the surface. 

“I gotta drop down,” he said, communicating the situation to Sam. “Either that, or… I dunno, maybe if you can find a really long pool skimmer…” 

In the end, it wasn’t up to them: in the time it’d taken for Bucky to weigh his options and talk to Sam, the kitten began to move again, clawing and burrowing its way under the shirt and down his back. The sensation was so startling— like being tickled with knives— that he swore and flinched, lost his grip on the beam with his metal fingers, and then they were falling… 

He hit the water cleanly, feet first, and quickly resurfaced, swimming blindly toward the edge of the pool as the kitten— now in a complete panic— scrabbled its way back up his body to his neck and kept going, tearing through his skin as it frantically clawed its way up the back of his wet hair, only stopping when it realized there was nowhere else to go. It clung to the top of his head, claws digging painfully into his scalp as it desperately hung on. 

Somewhere through the haze of pain of having his entire upper body perforated by a small, terrified mammal, Bucky could hear Sam laughing again. 

“Get her off me, man,” said Bucky, as he anchored himself on the edge of the pool with his forearms. He could feel a strong tug on his scalp as Sam crouched down and tried to lift the kitty away. 

“Come on now,” said Sam, speaking gently to the little animal, but the kitten just dug in even harder, instinctively resisting his efforts to pull her away. “She’s pretty strong,” he said, unable to hide his amusement, and then, “She’s scared,” by way of apology as he gave up. 

“You think?” said Bucky sarcastically. 

“You’re bleedin’,” said Sam, pushing himself back up. “She got you good.” And then, “Maybe she’ll let go once you get out of the water.” 

Bucky nodded, and began to carefully lever himself out of the pool. He hissed as he kneeled in a puddle at the edge, little rivulets of blood-tinged water running down his arms. The kitten was digging in every time he moved. He lifted his hand up to her instinctively, trying to pull her away again, but she wouldn’t budge, and he gave up, sighing. 

“Had me a cousin,” Sam was saying. “When we were kids, he had a pet tarantula. Named her Tammy. Man, that spider loved him. Used to climb up on top of his nappy-ass head and set up camp.” He nodded to Bucky’s head. “Just like that.” 

Bucky had stood up, carefully, still dripping on the deck, the cat still clinging firmly to his head like some kind of strange fashion accessory. 

“So one day,” said Sam, as Bucky reached up again— he got one paw undone, but by the time he found the other one, she’d firmly reattached herself with the first one. 

“The spider hung on,” said Sam. “Wouldn’t let go. Just dug in, right on top of his head. She stayed up there for hours. Whole damn day. He ate dinner with that fuckin’ spider on his head.” 

Sam was laughing, remembering it. “My aunt finally had to cut her out of his hair, so he could go to bed. Had a big ol’ bald spot, right on top of his head.” 

“I ain’t cuttin’ my hair,” said Bucky. “Go grab me one of those towels, wouldya?” He winced again and put his hands on his hips, actively resisting the urge to grab at the kitten. “Fuck, she’s clawin’ me to death.” 

“Aww,” said Sam, giving him a very exaggerated look of sympathy. “Big ol’ Winter Soldier done got his ass handed to him by a baby kitten…” 

“Fuck you, man,” said Bucky, just as he heard Sam’s camera go off again. Twice. “Put the goddamn phone away.” 

“Sorry,” said Sam, not sounding sorry at all, and he was laughing again, as his eyes went up and down Bucky’s body, taking it all in, sputtering the words out in fragments. 

“It’s just— the wet hair and the— the kitten on top— the shirt… in your fuckin’ drawers… it’s just… shit, man—” He couldn’t finish, overtaken with snickering again… 

“Just gimme the fuckin’ towel.” 

Bucky could hear Sam laughing to himself the whole way as he went and got a couple of towels from the stack of clean ones, and then returned, keeping one for himself as he handed the other one to Bucky. 

He dried himself off as best he could, feeling ridiculous, and then sat down on one of the benches and waited, trying to be patient, while Sam stripped off the rest of his own wet gear and got dressed in fresh clothes.. 

After about five minutes, the kitten finally calmed down enough for Bucky to peel her away from his head. He blew out a breath and quickly wrapped her up in the towel he had ready— he wasn’t about to let her run off and get into yet another predicament. 

“Finally,” he said, standing up. “Jesus Christ.” 

He offered the kitten, bundled up in the towel, to Sam, who was standing there, distinctly lacking an array of dripping, bloody puncture wounds. Sam, who was dry and dignified and comfortable in his fresh change of flattering sportswear. Sam, who was now saying, “Nuh uh,” as he put both his hands up, palms out, like he was fending it off. 

“You know Steve don’t like cats,” he said. 

“Huh,” said Bucky, as he looked down at the kitten. It was still a little scared, but at least it wasn’t trying to climb him like a tree anymore. “That’s right,” he said. “I’d forgotten.” 

Steve had been allergic, back in the day. The serum had taken care of all that, but the aversion had lingered. 

“What about Darcy?” said Sam. 

“We even allowed to have pets?” said Bucky. 

“Ain’t heard no complaints about Lucky, when Clint’s here for more’n a day,” said Sam. “And Nat had a kitty a while back.” 

“She did?” said Bucky, surprised. He didn’t know what was more surprising: the fact that he hadn’t known, or that she would allow herself such an indulgence. 

“Had to give it up,” said Sam. “Back when she was gone for that long-term thing. But I seen she still has some cans of food up in her cupboards.” 

Bucky smirked: Sam hadn’t even bothered to hide the fact that he had knowledge of the woman’s cupboard contents; playing it like it was no big deal was clearly his chosen tack at this point. 

“Huh,” he said again. “Wonder if she’d let us have it, ’til we can get some stuff from town.” 

“So you’re keepin’ her then?” said Sam. 

The kitty had finally relaxed in Bucky’s arms, safe and warm, bundled up in the towel, its eyes shut like two little slits, the little bulk of its body moving up and down with each deep breath— it was probably exhausted from its ordeal. 

Without even thinking about it, Bucky’s flesh fingers moved to the top of its tiny little head and gave it a gentle scratch. Its paws flexed for a moment at his touch, kneading the air, and then it relaxed again, and began to purr— quietly at first, but quickly growing to a rumble both of the men could hear: comically loud for such a tiny little creature. 

“We’ll see,” said Bucky, his tone pretending to a sourness unshared by his fingers as he continued to scratch the teeny little orange-and-white-striped head. 

It made Sam smile, because it was completely fuckin’ obvious that the cat had already found her person— the decision was already made. 

“Do me a favor?” said Bucky. “Grab the rest of my shit for me? Just dump it in the locker room; I’ll come back for it later. And ask Nat about that cat food when she wakes up.” 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my Tumblr](https://sarahbeniel.tumblr.com)   
> 


	3. Chapter 3

  


Darcy opened the door and took one step back before bending over double, just like Sam, bursting into laughter. 

“Fuck, not you too,” said Bucky, as he stepped in and shut the door behind him. 

“What happened?” she said then, as she got a better look at him, seeing beyond the still-sodden underpants and stringy, wet hair to the other details, like the fresh, red scratches on his face and hands, the drops of pinkish-watery blood on the big white towel he was holding in his arms. 

“God, are you okay?” It was a stupid question— Bucky was always okay, physically— but the concern was instinctive. 

“Here,” he said, handing the towel to her. “Thought you might like a movin’-in-together present.” 

“What—” She didn’t even have time to finish her question, because the moment she accepted the bundle, she immediately realized it contained something— and when she looked down to see a tiny little orange-and-white-striped kitten wrapped up inside, fast asleep, all else was forgotten. 

“Oh my God, are you _kidding_ me?” 

Bucky couldn’t help grinning as she beamed at him— her raw, undisguised joy was like lookin’ at a fuckin’ rainbow. He’d had a pretty good idea that she’d be happy about it, but this was even better than what he’d imagined. 

“Oh my God,” she was saying again, this time in a higher, singsong voice— the kind that girls reserved for babies… human, or otherwise. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said, gazing down at the tiny creature, which was still sleeping in the towel. “Awww….” 

Darcy glanced up at him again, looking like she was about to cry, but in a good way. “Is it a boy or a girl? Are we even allowed to have pets? Can I name her?” 

“Course you can name her,” he said, stepping deeper into the apartment. “Not sure who you gotta butter up to keep her, but do me a favor’n lemme know when that conversation’s gonna happen, so I can be somewhere else…” 

Darcy looked up long enough to roll her eyes at him, and then immediately melted again as she gazed back down at the kitten nestled in her arms. 

“What happened to your pants?” she said, carrying the kitten like the precious cargo it was, as she followed Bucky to the bathroom. “Why’re you all wet? What the fuck happened?” 

He opened the shower-stall door and turned on the water, closed the door again while the water heated up, and quickly stripped off his wet underpants and the soaked purple shirt. 

“Sam found her in the pool,” he said, scratching absently at his abs. “I mean, not _in_ the pool… up above, in the rafters. Needed me to get up there, an’ bring her down.” 

“Awww,” said Darcy, looking down at the kitty again, and then back to Bucky, with a decidedly adoring look. “My hero,” she said. “Poor little thing. How did it get up there? Did you say boy or girl?” 

“Sam said she’s a girl,” said Bucky, as he opened the shower door again, stuck his hand in to test the temperature. “But he didn’t check or nothin’. I sorta remember thinkin’ most orange cats were boys, but maybe I’m just makin’ that up.” 

“No, I think you’re right about that,” said Darcy. “I’m not gonna bother her while she’s resting, though. Or him. Whatever. We can figure it out later.” 

“M’gonna take a quick shower,” he said. “Wash all those scratches out.” 

She winced when he turned, and she saw what the kitten had done to his back: it was criss-crossed with a multitude of angry red stripes, and though he hadn’t complained about it, she knew it had to hurt. At least the serum would take care of it quickly; they’d probably be completely healed by bedtime. 

He stepped in and shut the door, and she left him to it, carrying the bundled-up kitten back through the tiny apartment to the bedroom, setting it down on the bed— towel-and-all, as gently as she could— and then lay down next to it, watching it sleep. She almost drifted off herself, but startled awake when the shower door banged shut again in the bathroom. 

The kitten had woken up too, and it looked at her, blinking, and then stood up, raising itself even higher as it stretched out its thin little kitten legs, and just about broke its jaw apart in a mighty kitten yawn. 

“Hi, sweetie,” said Darcy, and she slid her hand under the sheet near the kitten’s paws, moving it stealthily. The kitty went on instant alert, its eyes darting to and fro as Darcy moved her hand beneath the sheet, and then it wiggled its butt and pounced, making Darcy giggle with delight. 

Bucky was stepping back into the bedroom, drying his hair with a fresh towel. “M’gonna have to send you up to my room later,” he said. “Get me some clean stuff.” 

She rolled onto her back so she could see him, grinning at him suggestively. 

“I _ain’t_ borrowin’ no more of your clothes,” he said, when he saw the look on her face. “So don’t even think about it.” 

“Fine,” she said, “but you better not lie down here in the buff.” Just as she said it, the kitten pounced again, doing its best to be brutal and deadly. It was fucking adorable. “You’re liable to get your junk clawed up,” said Darcy. “She’s attacking anything that moves.” 

“Good to know,” he said. He finished with his hair, and wrapped the towel firmly around his midsection to protect all his soft bits. He lay down on the other side of the bed— not much room left, with both Darcy and the kitten playing on it— and stretched out as best he could, sighing and closing his eyes for a moment. 

“What are we gonna do about food, and like… a litter pan and stuff,” said Darcy, giggling as the kitten attacked her hand again. “Should we sign out a car, go into town?” 

“Nah,” said Bucky, his eyes still shut. “Sam’s takin’ care of it.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. He, uh… he wanted to do me favor.” Bucky grinned then, but didn’t elaborate, and finally opened his eyes again. “So what you gonna name her?” 

“I dunno,” she said. “We still don’t know if she’s a boy or a girl…” 

“So name her somethin’ that don’t matter either way.” 

“How about _Stucky_ ,” said Darcy, and then she shrieked when the kitten surprised her with a direct hit. 

“Stucky?” repeated Bucky, confused. “You mean, on account o’ her bein’ stuck up in the—” 

“No,” said Darcy, biting her lip as she smiled, and then slid her hand back under the sheets again. “To commemorate the day I found out you and Steve—” She yelped, cutting herself off, when the kitten managed to catch her again. 

It took him a few seconds to figure it out— the name— and then he sat up, shaking his head. “No,” he said. “Nuh uh. No way. We are _not_ namin’ the cat after—” 

“Aw,” said Darcy, pushing out her lower lip in a pout. “Spoilsport.” She grinned again and wagged her eyebrows at him. “Just gimme one teensy-weensy little detail, and I’ll come up with a different name.” 

“You kiddin’ me?” he said, pretending to be affronted. “Thought we had a deal.” He flinched as the kitten attacked his foot, where it was partially under a crumple of bedding. “Ow,” he said, pulling it back. “Fuck, that hurts,” he said, but he was laughing. 

“I already held up my part of the bargain, and then some,” he said. “Fuckin’ Sam musta took twenty pictures of me in that goddamned shirt. An’ I had to strip down to my skivvies when I was climbin’ up to get the cat, which, judgin’ by Sam’s reaction, made it even more… fuck, I don’t even wanna know.” 

Darcy snorted out a quick burst of laughter. “Okay, I need to see those pictures _immediately_.” 

“Jesus,” he said, and then pulled his foot back again as it got attacked. “Don’t know why me bein’ humiliated is such a fuckin’ laugh riot.” He gestured to her with a tilt of his chin. “C’mere. You owe me a kiss after what I been through.” 

“Poor baby,” she said, as she crawled up onto his body, lying halfway down on him, careful not to hurt the kitty, who was still attacking the rumpled-up sheets, responding to any movement underneath them. 

She gave him a kiss, and inspected the wounds on his upper body more closely. They probably would have sucked for a normal person— cat scratches could really sting like a motherfucker, and he had them all over his shoulders, neck, and even some on his face, in addition to the mess she’d already seen on his back— but, typical for Bucky, he seemed not to even notice. Somehow that made it all the more funny when they kitty’s painful sneak-attacks actually managed to startle him. 

“Come on, pleeeeeese?” she said, after giving him one more sweet kiss and cuddling up to his body. “Just tell me _something_. It’s all I could think about while you were gone. You know the less you tell me, the more my imagination is just gonna run wild…” 

“Where’s the kitty?” he said warily, bracing himself for another ninja-strike. 

“She’s fine,” said Darcy, never breaking eye-contact. “She’s right there— by my feet. Don’t try to change the subject.” 

Bucky let out a long-suffering sigh and slid down a little more, so he could stare up at the ceiling. “Okay, fine,” he said, but was quick to interrupt her when she practically squealed. “But _only_ because I recognize you ain’t gonna let up on me. And no-one else can know. An’ I mean _no-one_. This place is a goddamn gossip mill, and everyone acts like they're fuckin' twelve years old. I’m sure Steve’ll understand that I couldn’t keep it from you forever, but now it’s gonna be the three of us, in it together— to the grave.” 

“To the grave,” she repeated with mock solemnity. 

“An’ you gotta let me break it to him that you know— in my own way, in my _own time_.” He looked at her with a stern face, but then broke into a quick laugh when he saw her happy face— so obviously pleased that he was gonna talk about it, after all. “But you owe me now,” he said. “You gotta get Sam to delete all those pictures. He took about a thousand of ‘em.” 

“A thousand, huh? I thought it was twenty.” She bit her lip then, grinning at him. “You musta looked pretty good…” 

“ _Good_ ain’t the word you’re lookin’ for,” he grumbled. “More like a fuckin’ idiot… He’s aimin’ to blackmail me or somethin’…” 

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” she said soothingly, and rolled away from him to lean toward the bedside table, mindful of the kitten, which was now resting in the cutest little loaf-form near the foot of the bed. 

She grabbed her phone from the table, rolled onto her back, and then spent approximately eight seconds scrambling her thumbs over the bottom of the screen as she texted Sam. A few seconds later, the chime of an answering text came in. 

“ _Dayum_ ,” she said, as her eyes roved over whatever had come through. 

“What is it,” he said. 

“You gotta at least let me keep _this_ one,” she said, turning the phone so that he could see. It was one of the first pictures Sam had taken— a perfectly-framed view of his body in the purple shirt and boxer briefs, as he climbed up the rock wall: legs bent, muscles flexing as he pushed himself up, in a way that showed off the shapely curve of his ass to extreme advantage. 

“I mean, just _look_ at that ass!” she said, not even joking. “I mean, I have you right here, but… God, you’re breathtaking.” She tilted the phone a little. “Too bad we can’t see the front of the shirt, though…” 

“Gimme that,” he said, grabbing for the phone, and she shrieked and tried to hold it out of his reach, which was ludicrous, but she made an attempt, anyway. He rolled on top of her, pinning her on her back as he grabbed at it again. She quickly switched hands, her arm extended off the edge of the bed as she giggled. 

“Watch out for the kitty!” she said as he went for it, and then in a last ditch effort, she actually tossed the phone across the room, where it hit the wall and then fell into a pile of dirty clothes on the floor. 

“You’re gonna get it,” he said, slotting his knee between her legs and then he bent down and teased her with his lips, just barely brushing them against her mouth as she continued to giggle, his fingers skimming against the skin over her ribcage, threatening to tickle her, but he flinched suddenly and pulled back— the kitten had attacked his ankle down below. 

“We’re gonna have to lock her in the bathroom or somethin’, when we’re foolin’ around,” he said, as he lay back again, afraid to make any sudden moves. 

Darcy turned serious for a second as she looked over to him, watching his face. “Why don’t you wanna tell me about Steve?” she said softly. “I swear, I’m not gonna tell anyone else. Are you embarrassed? Or…” 

“It ain’t that,” he said, letting his eyes fall shut for a minute. 

She rolled toward him and slung a leg over his thighs, ran her hand in a soothing line up and down his abs until he opened his eyes again and stared up at the ceiling. When he let out a long sigh, she knew he’d start talking on his own, if she kept her mouth shut long enough. 

“It was uh… he wasn’t Captain America,” he finally said. “None of that’d happened yet. It, uh… it started a while before I shipped out. We were just kids, you know? Just… foolin’ around.” 

“Uh huh,” she said. “Like _all_ guys just casually fool around with their same-sex friends, in a super repressive era…” 

He chuckled a little, softly— a sound of defeat. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Fine. I’m just sayin… it wasn’t like a great romance for the ages or nothin’.” And then he looked down at her fondly and said, “Not like us.” 

And fuck, if he didn’t utterly destroy her when he said shit like that, because he meant it, the sap. She oozed up just far enough to kiss him, and then rested her head sideways on his chest and sighed happily. 

“So what happened?” she prodded, after a minute. “You just fooled around the one time, or…” 

“Nah, it was more than that,” he said, and then jerked his leg and said, “Ow! Fuck, my toe!” 

“Keep talking,” she said, as she sat up and reached over to the bedside table again, this time pulling open the drawer, rummaging around inside until she pulled out a little notebook. 

“I was seein’ girls too, at the same time,” he said. “Always liked girls. Stevie— he didn’t understand that. Not at the time. Didn’t see how I could like… both.” 

Darcy ripped a piece of paper out of the notebook and crumpled it into a little ball. She plucked the kitten off the bed and set her down on the cluttered mess of the floor, and then flicked the little ball of paper across her line of sight. The kitten immediately pounced on it, and then began to bat it around on her own, attacking it ferociously. 

“Plus,” continued Bucky, as Darcy clambered back up onto the bed, “I wasn’t how I am now. I wasn’t… a one-man guy. One-person. Whatever.” 

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘ _monogamous_ ’,” said Darcy. 

“Yeah; thanks, Einstein,” said Bucky, but he was grinning, not caring that she had a better vocabulary than him. 

He scratched at his chest with his metal hand and said, “Shit, I was a cocky little bastard. It was confusin’ for him. Hell, it was confusin’ for me, too, but I was just goin’ with the flow, you know?” 

“So what happened?” she said again, lying back down by his side, nestling into him. She rested her head on his chest as his arm dropped down to idly card through her hair. 

“Shipped out,” he said. “N’that was that. Next time I seen him, everything was different. He was… big, which woulda been weird enough on its own, ‘cause it was like a whole new person, only with my friend’s face. And anyway, he was tryin’ that thing with Carter.” 

“So that wasn’t fake?” she asked, and then she sat up a little, grinning. “Or— wait, were all those stupid rumors actually true? That you guys were a threesome? Like the super-sandwich he’s got going on now?” 

He finally looked at her, his eyes sparkling as he grinned at her. “You know about that too? About Nat?” 

“Please,” she said, as she rolled her eyes. 

“Why didn’t you—” 

“I didn’t know if _you_ knew,” she said. “Thought it was some big secret.” 

“It is,” he said, and then his face sort of fell, taking on a melancholy expression. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, reaching up to thumb the prickly cleft of his chin. 

He let out a sigh and took a hold of her wrist, gently, moving her hand up to his lips to kiss it. “Didn’t think we were keepin’ things from each other. And now here we are… both of us…” 

“Aw, baby, no…” She slid up his body to reach his mouth with her own, kissing him tenderly, and then she pulled back a little and petted his beard as she spoke. “I mean, it’s kinda weird that I didn’t know about you and Steve, but I’m not mad or anything. And the thing he’s got going on now? I mean, it wasn’t my secret to tell.” 

“Yeah, I know,” he murmured, licking his lips as he stared up at the ceiling again. “Just hate feelin’ like we got any kinda secrets from each other, is all. I’m just glad it’s comin’ up now, and not…” He trailed off and sighed. “The thing with me and Stevie… s’like you said, weren’t my secret to tell… I promised him…” 

“It’s okay,” she said. “I get it.” 

She smiled slyly then. “So,” she said, as she slid back down a little, but kept her eyes on his face. “You never answered the question: Did you and Steve and Peggy ever…” 

“Nah, not me,” he said, chuckling, as he adjusted a little, helping her get comfortable as she tucked into his side. “It was real, though— the thing they had. I could see it, right away, the second we walked into that camp, after he rescued all of us guys. The way she was lookin’ at him, like he hung the fuckin’ moon… and he was lookin’ right back at her, with the same goofball expression. He ain’t never felt that way about a girl before— not that I knew of— but there it was. I guess that’s when he musta finally realized where I was comin’ from. You know, before. That it don’t have to be one or the other.” 

He tipped his head down a little to look at her. “You just want who you want, you know?” 

“Yeah, I know,” she said, with a grin. 

“I was glad about it,” he said. “Happy for him. It was a relief, in a way— knowin’ he had someone, and that he wasn’t gonna want to…” He sighed, still staring up at the ceiling. “I was all fucked up, freaked out about what was goin’ on with my body— didn’t know what… didn’t want no-one touchin’ me… didn’t wanna talk about it, neither…” 

“Baby,” she said softly, and he turned to look at her face again, and he rolled a little bit into her, ran his hand through her hair, above her ear. They could still hear the kitten, down below, batting the little ball of paper around the room. 

“So was that it?” she asked softly, watching her own hand as it ran down the planes of his chest, fingers tracing the faint red lines of the scratches in his skin. “Did you… did it never come up again? Even later? When you came back and… when you remembered everything?” 

“Nah,” he said. “I mean, we talked about it, but he wanted to leave it all in the past. He was worried that it might make things worse for me, you know? When they were all workin’ to clear my name. Didn’t want it complicatin’ things, makin’ people think that had anything to do with why he standin’ by me so strong, after all that I’d done…” 

“Why would anyone else need to know about it, anyway?” she asked. “Not like it’s anyone’s business what—” 

“Well, like you said— there were all those rumors…” 

“I remember,” she said. “It was all anyone was talking about, for a while. They really did a number on him, harassing him… and I mean, he never really _denied_ it straight out, right? But the implication was…” 

“Except he sorta did,” said Bucky. “Deny it. They were hasslin’ Peggy too, remember? Hasslin’ a sick old lady, askin’ her if she knew her old flame was some kinda fairy, askin’ her if the three of us ever…” 

He shook his head, and she could see that it still pissed him off, after all these years. “Stevie, he told ‘em to knock it off— to leave her alone— that there weren’t nothin’ between us, and that anyone askin’ any personal questions about his private life from then on weren’t gonna get no more interviews from him again— ever.” 

“So technically he didn’t lie, but…” 

“He didn’t lie about nothin’ goin’ on between the three of us: that part was true. But the way he said it, well… he didn’t exactly stand up and set anyone straight, neither, about the details, the fact that we… even if it didn’t have nothin’ to do with Peggy, an’… I mean, he pretty much told it like me and him… I mean, _fuck_ — he just wanted them to _stop_.” 

“So when those photos leaked later… the ones of him and Sam…” 

“Yeah. That made it all _real_ confusin’. S’why he had to come out officially, and go through it all over again, sayin’ it was all real with Peggy, too, even if no-one believed him.” 

“But the questions about you…” 

“Yeah. I mean, Stevie— he’s okay with bein’ called a fairy by a bunch o’ bigots— he’ll stand up and fight for his right to be who is, ‘specially now that it ain’t illegal no more, but bein’ called out as a liar… lettin’ everyone down who’d held him up as a man of truth, an’ justice, an’ all that…” 

He looked so sad for a second, and she molded her body a little closer, wrapped her leg a little more firmly around him. 

“We talked about it, and we just agreed… better to leave it— the truth about him and me, leave all that in the past. Ain’t gonna hurt no-one. Ain’t nobody’s business, anyways.” 

“But… what about when we first started up— you and me? I _specifically_ asked you… I swear to God, I could tell there was _something_ … I dunno. Remember? I asked if there was anything between you two?” 

“Told myself, I wasn’t lyin’,” he said. “Because you weren’t askin’ about the past. You were askin’ about the present. Seein’ if I was… you know, if we were gonna be exclusive.” 

“Yeah, but… wouldn’t that sorta be the time to say, ‘Well, not _now_ , but there used to be?’” 

“Well, yeah,” he said, “only by that time I’d already made my promise, an’ I aimed to keep it. I talked to him about it, you know. Told him you asked me, and how I felt like I weren’t bein’ straight with you… But—” 

He shook his head, closed his eyes. “Stevie, he— I guess he’s still worried about it— that anyone findin’ out is gonna tear him apart, make things bad for us… or the people we care about.” He opened his eyes and looked at her. “An’ he’s probably right.” 

“That sucks,” said Darcy, meaning it— hating that Steve, especially, had had to go through so much hell just to play the press and the gossips… and to not let down the people he fought so hard to protect, every single day. “It’s not fair.” 

“Yeah, well… life of a national hero, I guess,” he said. “People pokin’ into all o’ your private business.” He turned his head to look at her. “Anyway, like I said— m’glad it came out, a'least between you an' me.” 

He reached over with his flesh hand, traced her upper lip with the pad of his index finger. “Never felt right to me, keepin’ it from you. I mean, fuck— you know everything else about me. Stuff no-one else knows, not even Stevie.” 

“I’m glad too,” she said, and then smiled: “Even if you _are_ gonna burn in hell now, for breaking a promise to your first love…” 

He rolled into her then, a little on top of her, and his voice was low when he spoke, his nose brushing against the side of hers: “Never said he was my first…” And then he kissed her… 

“So who was,” she said, when he pulled back, watching his lips as he licked them. “Boy or girl?” 

He fell back again, staring into space, like he was considering it. While he was thinking, the kitty began to meow from down below, on Bucky’s side of the bed. 

“I think she wants back up,” she said, and he leaned over the edge of the bed and scooped her up, put her on the bed in between their bodies, and gave her head a little scratch as he lay back down, and all was quiet for a minute. 

“Minnie,” he said suddenly. 

“Minnie?" she said. "You mean for the kitty? Like Minnie Mouse?” 

The kitten had surrendered to Bucky’s attention, dropping down into the sheets next to his body, and was starting to purr as she sank lower, kneading her tiny little paws into a bunched-up bit of bedding by his armpit. 

“No, he said, still scratching the kitty, his fingers finding the right spots behind her ears, without even looking. “Short for Wilhelmina.” 

“I don’t get it,” said Darcy, confused. 

Bucky turned his head to smile at her. “She was my first.” 

“Wilhelmina,” said Darcy, repeating it. “That’s a lot of name. What is it, German? Polish?” 

“Guess so,” said Bucky. “Don’t remember which one.” 

“But you remember _her_ ,” said Darcy. 

“Yeah, I do,” said Bucky, and he caught his lower lip under his teeth. 

Darcy grinned at his expression. “She was your first lay?” 

“God, no,” said Bucky, looking down at the kitty— she was getting sleepy the more she kneaded, her little kitten eyes falling shut as her body drooped into the covers, purring loudly all the while. 

“I was, oh… ten or eleven or somethin’,” he said. “It was just… the first time I saw stars, you know? Felt it in my gut. Didn’t think much o’ girls before that, but…” 

Darcy snuggled down into the bedding more, lying on her side so she could see Bucky while he told the story, the kitten nestled between them. 

“I can see it all,” he was saying. “Remember it, like it was yesterday. Prettiest thing I’d ever seen.” He smiled, unlocking the memory of it in his head, watching it like it was a recovered bit of filmstrip playing out in his mind. 

“She had these long brown braids, with hair ribbon woven into ‘em,” he said, gesturing with his fingers, drawing loops in the air. “Blue, like her eyes.” He grinned and said, “I was so struck by lightnin’ that I walked straight into a wall.” 

Darcy laughed along with him at the image, enjoying the story, the way he painted it for her. 

“I was carryin’ a paper sack of apples— green ones, for my ma to bake somethin’— and the bottom broke out, spilled ‘em on the ground, rollin’ everywhere. She an’ her friends saw the whole damn thing, were laughin’ at me. But then Minnie, she came over and helped me pick ‘em up— I was puttin’ ‘em in my shirt: you know how you make a basket out o’ your shirt?” 

Darcy nodded and he went on: 

“And she told me her name, and smiled at me, and I was so dumbstruck I couldn’t even speak. Couldn’t say a single goddamned word; just took my apples and stumbled away like a fuckin’ halfwit.” 

“Oh my God, could you be any more adorable,” said Darcy, sighing as she rested her head against his chest again, the kitten still tucked between them, a little ball of warm, rumbling fur. “I wish I could’ve known you back then…” 

“I remember I went straight over to Stevie’s place,” said Bucky. “Instead o’ straight home, like I was s’posed to. I was determined, see. Had to tell someone. I told him— I was in some kinda trance. I dumped all the apples down on the table an’ I told him, I said— Stevie, I think I just met the girl I’m gonna marry.” 

“Awww,” she said, smiling at the sweetness of it. “What’d he say? Was he jealous?” 

“Nah, it weren’t like that yet. He just said he wanted to see her. Wanted to see for himself, this girl who _just like that_ turned me into some kinda stuttering fool— see my future wife. So we walked back there together, and she was still hangin’ out there, with all her little friends, you know? Playin’ hopscotch in the street with some of the little kids. I pointed her out from across the way, and Stevie, he takes a good long look at her— like he’s really considerin’ it.” 

He looked down at Darcy and blinked, an intense look on his face. “And then finally, he says, ‘Naw, Bucky, that ain’t her.” 

Darcy made a happy little sound at it— the absolute perfection of Bucky’s cute impression of an earnest, ten-year-old Steve... 

Bucky grinned back and continued on: “And I said, ‘How you know?’” 

“And?” said Darcy. She looked down at the kitten, which was now fast asleep, and then back up to Bucky’s face; he’d never stopped looking at her. 

“So?” she pressed. “What’d he say?” 

“He said, ‘ _I just know_ ,’ like he was psychic or somethin’. All serious-like. Like he _knew_.” 

Bucky ran his hand down Darcy’s arm to her hand, picked it up and kissed her knuckle— just above the delicate little ring she’d been wearing now for three weeks, the one he’d slipped onto her finger on the best day of his life, right after she’d told him, ‘ _Yes_ …’ 

“And whattya know,” he said softly. “The punk was right.” 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my Tumblr](https://sarahbeniel.tumblr.com)   
> 


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